John Berryman

The high ones die, die. They die. You look up and who’s there? €”Easy, easy, Mr Bones. I is on your side. I smell your grief. €”I sent my grief away. I cannot care

Bats have no bankers and they do not drink And cannot be arrested and pay no tax And, in general, bats have it made. Henry for joining the human race is bats, Known to

Down on the cathedrals, as from the Giralda In a land no crueller, and over the walls To domes & river look From Great John’s belfry, Ivan-Veliky, Whose thirty-one are still To hail who

Sick at 6 & sick again at 9 Was Henry’s gloomy Monday morning oh. Still he had to lecture. They waited, his little children, for stricken Henry To rise up yet once more again

Her properties, like her of course & frisky & new: A stale cake sold to kids, a 7-foot weed Inside in the Great Neck night, A record (‘great’), her work all over as u-

He loom’ so cagey he say ‘Leema beans’ And measured his intake to the atmosphere Of that fairly stable country. His ear hurt. Left. The rock-cliffs, a mite sheer At his age, in these

This is the lay of Ike. Here’s to the glory of the Grewt WhiteГўв‚”awkГўв‚” Who has been runningГўв‚”erГўв‚”erГўв‚”things in recentГўв‚”echГўв‚” In the UnitedГўв‚”If your screen is black, Ladies & gentlemen, weГўв‚”I likeГўв‚” At the

Cedars and the westward sun. The darkening sky. A man alone Watches beside the fallen wall The evening multitudes of sin Crowd in upon us all. For when the light fails they begin Nocturnal

It will seem strange, no more this range on range Of opening hopes and happenings. Strange to be One’s name no longer. Not caught up, not free. Strange, not to wish one’s wishes onward.

Bards freezing, naked, up to the neck in water, Wholly in dark, time limited, different from Initiations now: The class in writing, clothed & dry & light, Unlimited time, till Poetry takes some, Nobody

And where, friend Quo, lay you hiding Across malignant half my years or so? One evil faery It was workt night, with amoroso pleasing Menace, the panes shake Where Lie-by-the-fire is waiting for his

Noises from underground made gibber some Others collected & dug henry up Saying ‘You are a sight.’ Chilly, he muttered for a double rum Waving the mikes away, putting a stop To rumors, pushing

The sunburnt terraces which swans make home With water purling, Macchu Pichu died Like Delphi long ago— A message to Justinian closing it out, The thousand years’ authority, although Tho’ never found exactly wrong

I heard, could be, a Hey there from the wing, And I went on: Miss Bessie soundin good That one, that night of all, I feelin fari myself, taxes & things Seem to be

Henry hates the world. What the world to Henry Did will not bear thought. Feeling no pain, Henry stabbed his arm and wrote a letter Explaining how bad it had been In this world.

My mother has your shotgun. One man, wide In the mind, and tendoned like a grizzly, pried To his trigger-digit, pal. He should not have done that, but, I guess, He didn’t feel the

There is an eye, there was a slit. Nights walk, and confer on him fear. The strangler tree, the dancing mouse Confound his vision; then they loosen it. Henry widens. How did Henry House

Seedy Henry rose up shy in de world & shaved & swung his barbells, duded Henry up And p. a.’d poor thousands of persons on topics of grand Moment to Henry, ah to those

Some good people, daring & subtle voices And their tense faces, as I think of it I see sank underground. I see. My radar digs. I do not dig. Cool their flushing blood, them

Dapples my floor the eastern sun, my house faces north, I have nothing to say except that it dapples my floor And it would dapple me If I lay on that floor, as-well-forthwith I

Three ‘coons come at his garbage. He be cross, I figuring porcupine & took Sir poker Unbarring Mr door, & then screen door. Ah, but the little ‘coon, Hardly a foot (not counting tail)

Through the forest, followed, Henry made his silky way, No chickadee was troubled, small moss smiled On his swift passage. But there were those ahead when at midday They met in a clearing and

Filling her compact & delicious body With chicken páprika, she glanced at me Twice. Fainting with interest, I hungered back And only the fact of her husband & four other people Kept me from

General Fatigue stalked in, & a Major-General, Captain Fatigue, and at the base of all Pale Corporal Fatigue, And curious microbes came, came viruses: And the Court conferred on Henry, and conferred on Henry

He lay in the middle of the world, and twicht. More Sparine for Pelides, Human (half) & down here as he is, With probably insulting mail to open And certainly unworthy words to hear

He published his girl’s bottom in staid pages Of an old weekly. Where will next his rages Ridiculous Henry land? Tranquil & chaste, de-hammocked, he descended— Upon which note the fable should have ended—

Disengaged, bloody, Henry rose from the shell Where in theior racing start his seat got wedged Under his knifing knees, He did it on the runners, feathering, Being bow, catching no crab. The ridges

Your face broods from my table, Suicide. Your force came on like a torrent toward the end Of agony and wrath. You were christened in the beginning Sylvia Plath And changed that name for

Go, ill-sped book, and whisper to her or Storm out the message for her only ear That she is beautiful. Mention sunsets, be not silent of her eyes And mouth and other prospects, praise

Collating bones: I would have liked to do. Henry would have been hot at that. I missed his profession. As a little boy I always thought ‘I’m an archeologist’; who Could be more respected

Goodbye, sir, & fare well. You’re in the clear. ‘Nobody’ (Mark says you said) ‘is ever found out.’ I figure you were right, Having as Henry got away with murder For long. Some jarred

They pointed me out on the highway, and they said ‘That man has a curious way of holding his head.’ They pointed me out on the beach; they said ‘That man Will never become

Behold I bring you tidings of great joy— Especially now that the snow & gale are still— For Henry is delivered. Not only is he delivered from the gale But he has a little

Sixteen below. Our care like stranded hulls Litter all day our little Avenues. It was 28 below. No one goes anywhere. Fabulous calls To duty clank. Icy dungeons, though, Have much to mention to

Flak. An eventful thought came to me, Who squirm in my hole. How will the matter end? Who’s king these nights? What happened to. . . day? Are ships abroad? I would like to

He wondered: Do I love? all this applause, Young beauties sitting at my feet & all, And all. It tires me out, he pondered: I’m tempted to break laws And love myself, or the

I am, outside. Incredible panic rules. People are blowing and beating each other without mercy. Drinks are boiling. Iced Drinks are boiling. The worse anyone feels, the worse Treated he is. Fools elect fools.

The taxi makes the vegetables fly. ‘Dozo kudasai,’ I have him wait. Past the bright lake up into the temple, Shoes off, and My right leg swings me left. I do survive beside the

Here, whence All have departed orwill do, here airless, where That witchy ball Wanted, fought toward, dreamed of, all a green living Drops limply into one’s hands Without pleasure or interest Figurez-vous, a time

Disturbed, when Henry’s love returned with a hubby, — I see that, Henry, I don’t put that down, — He thought he had to think Or with a razor like a skating-rink Have more

Oh servant Henry lectured till The crows commenced and then He bulbed his voice & lectured on some more. This happened again & again, like war, — The Indian p. a.’s, such as they

I met a junior—not so junior—and A-many others, who knew ‘him’ or ‘them’ Long ago, slightly, Whom I know. It was the usual Cocktail party, only (my schedule being strict) Beforehand. I worked. Well.

My framework is broken, I am coming to an end, God send it soon. When I had most to say My tongue clung to the roof I mean of my mouth. It is my

A hemorrhage of his left ear of Good Friday— So help me Jesus—then made funny too The other, further one. There must have been a bit. Sheets scrubbed away Soon all but three nails.

During the father’s walking—how he look Down by now in soft boards, Henry, pass And what he feel or no, who know? — As during hís broad father’s, all the breaks & ill-lucks of

Henry’s pelt was put on sundry walls Where it did much resemble Henry and Them persons was delighted. Especially his long & glowing tail By all them was admired, and visitors. They whistled: This

The three men coming down the winter hill In brown, with tall poles and a pack of hounds At heel, through the arrangement of the trees, Past the five figures at the burning straw,

In a motion of night they massed nearer my post. I hummed a short blues. When the stars went out I studied my weapons system. Grenades, the portable rack, the yellow spout Of the

Thin as a sheet his mother came to him During the screaming evenings after he did it, Touched F. J.’s dead hand. The parlour was dark, he was the first pall-bearer in, He gave

I recall a boil, whereupon as I had to sit, Just where, and when I had to, for deadlines. O I could learn to type standing, But isn’t it slim to be slumped off

I heard said ‘Cats that walk by their wild lone’ But Henry had need of friends. They disappeared Shall I follow my dream? Clothes disappeared in a backward sliding, zones Shot into view, pocked,

I don’t operate often. When I do, Persons take note. Nurses look amazed. They pale. The patient is brought back to life, or so. The reason I don’t do this more (I quote) Is:

Let us suppose, valleys & such ago, One pal unwinding from his labours in One bar of Chicago And this did actually happen. This was so. And many graces are slipped, & many a

Huffy Henry hid the day, Unappeasable Henry sulked. I see his point, —a trying to put things over. It was the thought that they thought They could do it made Henry wicked & away.

I’m scared a lonely. Never see my son, Easy be not to see anyone, Combers out to sea Know they’re goin somewhere but not me. Got a little poison, got a little gun, I’m

‘All virtues enter into this world:’) A Buddhist, doused in the street, serenely burned. The Secretary of State for War, Winking it over, screwed a redhaired whore. Monsignor Capovilla mourned. What a week. A

What is the boy now, who has lost his ball, What, what is he to do? I saw it go Merrily bouncing, down the street, and then Merrily over-there it is in the water!

When I saw my friend covered with blood, I thought This is the end of the dream, now I’ll wake up. That was more years ago Than I care to reckon, and my friend

Acacia, burnt myrrh, velvet, pricky stings. €”I’m not so young but not so very old, Said screwed-up lovely 23. A final sense of being right out in the cold, Unkissed. (—My psychiatrist can lick

Peter’s not friendly. He gives me sideways looks. The architecture is far from reassuring. I feel uneasy. A pity, Гўв‚”the interview began so well: I mentioned fiendish things, he waved them away And sloshed

As he grew famous—ah, but what is fame? — He lost his old obsession with his name, Things seemed to matter less, Including the fame—a television team came From another country to make a

The greens of the Ganges delta foliate. Of heartless youth made late aware he pled: Brownies, please come. To Henry in his sparest times sometimes The little people spread, & did friendly things; Then

Something black somewhere in the vistas of his heart. Tulips from Tates teazed Henry in the mood To be a tulip and desire no more But water, but light, but air. Yet his nerves

Henry is old, old; for Henry remembers Mr Deeds’ tuba, & the Cameo, & the race in Ben Hur, —The Lost World, with sound, & The Man from Blankey’s, which he did not dig,

Shh! on a twine hung from disastered trees Henry is swinging his daughter. They seem drunk. Over across them look out, Tranquil, the high statues of the wise. Her feet peep, like a lady’s

Industrious, affable, having brain on fire, Henry perplexed himself; others gave up; Good girls gave in; Geography was hard on friendship, Sire; Marriages lashed & languished, anguished; dearth of group And what else had

A spot of poontang on a five-foot piece, Diminutive, but room enough. . like clay To finger eager on some torrid day. . Who’d throw her black hair back, and hang, and tease. Never,

Come touch me baby in his waking dream Disordered Henry murmured. I’ll read you Hegel And that will hurt your mind I can’t remember when you were unkind But I will clear that block,

The conclusion is growing. . . I feel sure, my lord, This august court will entertain the plea Not Guilty by reason of death. I can say no more except that for the record

Under the table, no. That last was stunning, That flagon had breasts. Some men grow down cursed. Why drink so, two days running? Two months, O seasons, years, two decades running? I answer (smiles)

The jane is zoned! no nightspot here, no bar There, no sweet freeway, and no premises For business purposes, No loiterers or needers. Henry are Baffled. Have ev’ybody head for Maine, Utility-man take a

these hearings endlessly, friends, word is had Henry may be returning to our life Adult & difficult. There exist rumors that remote and sad And quite beyond the knowledge of his wife To the

Old Pussy-cat if he won’t eat, he don’t Feel good into his tum’, old Pussy-cat. He wants to have eaten. Tremor, heaves, he sweaterings. He can’t. A dizzy swims of where is Henry at;

It’s buried at a distance, on my insistence, buried. Weather’s severe there, which it will not mind. I miss it. O happies before & during & between the times it got married. I hate

That dark brown rabbit, lightness in his ears & underneath, gladdened our afternoon Munching a crab-‘. That rabbit was a fraud, like a black bull Prudent I admired in Zaragoza, who Certainly was brave